One Wrong Move
by Charlie671b
Summary: Arthur has led his knights into battle, Merlin too. But even with the help of his warlock things aren't looking favourable for Camelot's army. Just how much would Merlin give to protect his stubborn future king? Hurt!Merlin Kickass!Merlin comfort!Arthur kind!Uther Medling!Hunith M/M F/F Merthur, Morgwen - may the angst, fluff and magic begin!
1. Chapter 1

Honestly, I don't know why I originally wrote this chapter present tense because it reads horribly and so I have reverted back to past...hope it's a lil nicer to read now..hope you enjoy!

 **It all happened so fast.**

 _"Get away, already. Retreat!" The young Warlock flicked away arrow after arrow from his position on the field edge._

 _"I can look after myself, Merlin." The gods-damned stubborn prince continued crossing his sword as many times as possible, probably more superfluously than necessary, just to spite his manservant._

 _"You bloody masochist, for once would you listen to me?"_

 **But, why didn't he move?**

 _"Arthur, you need to stop this time. We can't win!" He could already see more soldiers filtering in around them - Merlin doubted he can take them all, it was hard enough trying to protect all the Knights in one on one bouts let alone an outnumbered fight. He wasn't strong enough. At this rate, he would not be able to protect Arthur._

 _"Don't wimp out on me, Merlin!" Arthur swung his sword into his opponents armour until the breast plate screeched and shattered; then the blade sank into a chest instead, though Arthur had already turned away before the body even hit the ground._

 **He's skilled; he could have saved himself. So why -**

 _"Gods be damned, Arthur! There are too bloody -" Merlin ducked, narrowly escaping the swing of an axe, his attacker's horse rearing at the amber glinting in the warlock's eyes. Falling to the earth, Merlin hastily rolled away from beneath the beast's hooves. "…too many!" He yelled, a desperation seeping into his usually soft tone. "Arthur, please!"_

 **So why -**

 _The prince momentarily glanced at Merlin, his eyes creasing in concern. However, mere seconds later that damned pride was setting in his eyebrows, hardening the usually warm stare. "We will not retreat. Whether you are with us to the end is...is your own decision." Then, he was gone, dancing off into his next parry._

 **The idiot, why -**

 _A nasty taste flooded the warlock's mouth, bitter and cruel; as if the crown prince still thought so little of him. With new purpose, Merlin got to his feet. His slight form rippling with anger and determination, how dare that arrogant prat insult him, belittle him, distrust him? After everything he had done - was doing! Gritting his teeth the warlock strode forward, breaking regiment. According to Arthur, the most strategic place for a non-battle trained soldier was out of the way. With a growl of frustration Merlin flung the nearest opposing knight from their horse, not sparing a glance back at the crumpled heap of metal and limbs left to his side. Merlin would show that crowned arse what's what; if the Royal clot pole thinks for even a second that, after everything Merlin had gone through, he would just desert his comrades and his charge…well then. He was just going to have to prove himself to Arthur's very eyes._

 _'If we die here,' Merlin seethed to himself, toppling three more riders with hardly a twitch of his fingers, 'I will resurrect us just so I can kill him myself.'_

 **How had he known it was coming?**

 _Half way across the battlefield Merlin's blood trembled; shivering along with the force of some other power entering the sphere of his senses. It was new, it was strong and Merlin couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. He spied an enemy approaching Arthur's unguarded back but just as he raised his hand to deflect it, a weight landed heavily between his shoulders. Merlin, thrown off balance, stumbled to his knees as a heat spread through his back, quickly followed by a searing, ruthless pain._

 _"Arthur; behind you!" He screamed, lifting his hand once more and gaining enough control to shatter the offensive blade before it could hit the prince. 'Arthur can deal with the rest,' the warlock thought, turning to look at the man who had managed to land a blow on him. The knight stood over him, armour scuffed and beaten from battle and as he lifted his sword over Merlin, the warlock smirked._

 _"Smuldre," and the metal began to creak. Warping, caving and tearing until blood ran from the newly founded creases in the armour. It collapsed in on its self until the hunk of metal and meat was nothing more than child size. "You will not take my destiny from me." Merlin hissed, the regret he would once have felt, long suppressed by his anger._

 **And why the hell didn't he stop it himself?**

 _"Merlin!" Arthur's voice rang across the field and, as his friend approached, Merlin got to his feet, albeit shakily. "Merlin, your back. I saw -"_

 _"Don't worry, sire. Just watch your own back, alright?" There was no menace in the warlock's tone and yet the prince winced. A sudden spike of energy alerted Merlin like lightening down his spine. It was coming from behind them. Merlin span toward the tree line, staring balefully toward the glint in the shadows._

 _…an archer? The only one he had seen all day... despite the chill tracking over the nape of his neck, Merlin raised his hand toward the concealed bow-man._

 _"Avvæpne," his eyes narrowed in outrage as the bow stayed firmly in hand. 'That isn't possible, that should have disarmed him,' the archer raised his bow, his arm drawn back in aim -_

 _"Være formålsløs!" Merlin cried, willing the arrow to fly in another direction but his heart had time to stutter once before the bladed shaft was soaring toward them - "fryses!"_

 _All became still. As Merlin had done before only for Arthur, time drew to a stop. The Knights became pictures of battle, the wind halting in the trees while the leaves pause mid shiver. Merlin's breathing was fast, laboured. Why wouldn't the arrow stop? Quickly tracking the firing line he nodded, noting a perfect alignment to Arthur's heart. He thought, for a second, of moving Arthur, but if the arrow couldn't be deterred then it must be charmed...it would only follow the new path to the now vulnerable prince. With no obvious cover to shield them, the warlock paced toward the young man under his care -_

 _"Interesting technique, Emerys, try again."_

 _The very moment the voice disappeared, noise erupted across the field; time was moving. Merlin stepped towards the prince, his pace quickened by magic, they're eyes met and Arthur was confused._

 _The only way to stop the arrow reaching Arthur was –_

 **That bloody, useless, idiot of a manservant.**


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin has the oddest expression on his face as he steps toward me, moving too quickly for a normal person and appearing in front of me within a blink. His body hits mine and a stinging sensation unfolds over my heart. I can see down his back. A shaft of feathers shivers back at me; pressing tightly into Merlin's ragged shirt, slowly staining it with a deep red.

"Oh Gods," hisses between my lips as I lower us to the ground, my warlock spluttering over my shoulder though horribly still in my arms, "Merlin, you idiot," I whisper as my hands shakily undo my breast plate, it falls away from me and so does Merlin though his eyes remain on me. I only just catch him round his waist but his back bows, boneless, his eyes slitted and chillingly blue. Pulling him to me, our eyes flit over the jagged shaft head between us. Having cleanly cut through my closest friend, pierced my solid metal armour and gone on to shallowly pierce my skin also – who could have fired such a powerful shot? I stare into the tree line, searching for the bastard who has dared to test my wrath. By now my knights are gathering closer, seeing their prince down gave them the strength to defeat their opponents and come to my aid…a brief happiness flees through me before I am screaming my order of search and kill on sight. At once, my knights disperse, though Leon stays at my back; after all, the enemy are still approaching. I can't decide on any single action, which duty to choose? My obligation as crowned prince or the needs of my most precious comrade; I know Uther's preferred decision.

I know mine.

I tense, ready to call for a retreat; Merlin limply cradled in my arms as I stand, "Knights of Camelot, as crown prince and your commander, I order a re-"

" _Brenne fienden_ ," My gaze snaps down to his pale face, ashen even now but his eyes are aglow with golden light, his hand so slightly raised, "You…ve…ne'er…run…bef…ore…don..t… start…n-now…prat," with wide eyes I watch my warlock, listening to the sounds of cries and crackling flame but I can't look up, because he's alive, he's talking; whereas before a burning calm had settled over me now only a manic urgency runs in my veins because _Merlin is alive._ He coughs haggardly and rust coloured spit flecks his chin and lips.

' _Gaius will save him_ ,' Merlin's eyes flutter closed and again he is dead weight in my arms, my stomach drops. For the first time I look up at the battlefield and notice the charred remnants of our enemy, "We win," I murmur "we've won! Knights return to me, we head home to Camelot victorious!"

"Sire," Leon rests a hand on my shoulder, "we must treat the Court Sorcerer before we travel. I fear, he shan't make it otherwise." Quite suddenly, the slick warmth seeping into my arm becomes sickeningly apparent, a tremor begins to shake my body making my armour clink and screech against itself. I stare at Leon, his face too pitying for me to bear.

"Fetch cloth dressings and any salve you can find, now Leon!" I hold Merlin tighter to myself, striding toward another of my knights whom is holding my horse. Just before we reach them I lower the limp warlock back to the ground, hastily undoing his shirt with trembling fingers though to little avail as for the arrow firmly pinning it to his back and chest. An indignant hiss escapes me in frustration, "pass me my knife," my hand weighs down under the firm mass of my hunting blade, my knight placing it into my palm, handle first. Gently holding Merlin against me, the knight beside me steadying the warlock's unbalanced body; I take hold of the feathered tail - blade resting over the shaft as close to the skin as I can. "I'm sorry, Merlin," and I cut down, a swift saw with my blade and the shaft snaps off, releasing a gut wrenching scream from the man in my arms, "Gods, I'm sorry, sorry," becomes a whispered mantra to me as I tear his shirt and ball it up over where the shaft is still buried, "hold that there," I command the knight, "we need to stem the bleeding." Now, taking hold of the speared end I have to swallow against my dry throat, "last one, Merlin, I swear," and I pull, with all my might to remove it as fast as I can. In my arms, Merlin's body becomes rigid as a cry - so terrible my knight flinches away – escapes the dying warlock, his eyes burning gold like the last embers of a raging fire; blood, rich red blood spewing from his lips as he chokes in his anguish. It is in that moment that Leon falls to my side, cloth and potion in hand. "Help me," I croak - my throat tight and hot with fear and anger alike.

At once, Leon is pulling Merlin's shirt from his body; pouring a sickly strong alcohol over both entrance and exit wound. I hold him still. I hold him, still. I can't let go.

"Sire, pack his chest with this," Leon holds out a balm of crushed herbs and fats, a durable remedy the knights have used many a times. I nod, taking the small jar in hand; it's cold. Lightly, I scoop the mixture onto my fingers and press them to the hole in his chest, again and again, following my knight's lead until the wound is temporarily sealed. "Now the cloths, sire," I look up and take the soft cloths, holding the end under Merlin's arm and wrapping back and forth until the wound is out of sight; a bad joke. Even as I watch the warlock's still and pallid face, part of me believes the idiot will sit up with a ridiculous grin on his stupid face, laughing in that way he does – a way he shouldn't in the presence of his master but does so anyway.

"I want him on my horse, I will set off ahead and you will command the knights in my stead, Leon." He helps me lift Merlin into the saddle, settling him against my chest. With a last shift I pull my cape from my shoulders and drape it over my cooling servant, tucking it up over his shoulders. "Thank you, friend; I will see you back in Camelot," Leon nods and turns away to call back the knights and I kick my horse into a gallop, hissing down into Merlin's ear, "Hold on, Merlin. You dare leave me and I'll make your life hell."

' _More then you already do?'_

A smirk lifts my lips as I glare over the horizon.

"Yeah, just you dare test me, idiot."


	3. Chapter 3

Prepare for a spontaneous and improvised part 3. I'm a plot while I write sorta gal so I may be flitting back and forth making changes as I go with this fic, apologies but I'm a crappy planner! Anyhoo, hope ya'll enjoy :3

It is the longest of rides, no matter what anyone says; a day's ride maybe but to me it is years spent on the back of that horse with a dying man sat heavily in silence. Merlin doesn't stir again for the entire journey. Not once. I try to provoke him with jibes and harsh remarks but it is-

It is as if I were talking to the dead.

His body has gotten horribly cold, no matter how many layers I give him or how close I hold him, he might have been carved from ice; a sculpture that is far too soft around the edges. When I finally reach the city people part like the red sea, watching as I pass with mournful stares and saddened eyes. And that is a hard feat to bear. They believe him already dead, they are already saying goodbye.

I pass Gwen by the well and she drops her pails, crying out as if in pain and even when I tell her to follow us because he isn't dead she hardly believes me; I know why. Merlin is an odd shade of grey, verging on blue. His fingers and lips purpling and his bandages well bloodied from disturbance during the ride. She runs behind the horse, skirts bunched carelessly at her knees, all the way back to the castle steps. She shakily assists in lowering the warlock from the beast and into my arms, balancing me as I stagger to Gaius's rooms; the court physician pales, his face setting sternly in his determination, commanding me to lay the warlock on the work bench and to collect particular remedies and poultices'. I am almost certain he is giving me tasks only to stop me watching the way Merlin's breath shudders in and out of his torn lung; how, when he breathes , blood gurgles from his wound; how his eyes remain a cloudy blue no matter what he is fed, prescribed or enchanted with. The growingly frenzied glare in Gaius's eyes, Gwen's gentle keening by his bedside; my own shuddering breaths… all begin to suffocate me. My manservant, my warlock, my _best friend_ …is dying.

"Gaius, please…"

It is seconds later I realise that had been my broken voice. I can't even remember how I planned to finish my plea. Without Merlin… _I can't._ I need a task, a mission. I need to do something besides watch the one person I thought was immortal die.

 _'You're being awfully nice to me in your head, aren't you, sire?'_

I smirk bitterly.

"You shouldn't be so smug for a near corpse, idiot." Gwen snaps a sharp look toward me, wariness in her red eyes. I duck my head. I must be insane. And yet…I open my mouth and immediately close it. No more speaking aloud. Instead I speak through my mind, quietly as if stepping into a cave so dark you can't tell how deep, wide or long it is…

 _'Merlin?'_

A lengthy silence; ah…

I muse to myself how my father will take the fact that I now hear voices…not well, I don't think.

 _'You've always heard voices, you prat. You, yourself and that overwhelming ego that plays you like a harp. The only change is you now hear_ sense. _'_

Inexplicable anger bubbles in me, there he is all helpless and yet he has the audacity to make jests;

 _'You…wretch! You useless, idiotic-'_

 _'Now sire, you should play nice. I am dying you know.'_ And somehow, Merlin's thought has a voice. He sounds soft, tired, subdued even.

That sobers me considerably. I blink up at the scene before me and suddenly I am leaving the room. I hear Gwen shout after me but Gaius mutters to let me go. Although I know the others can't hear us, I want the privacy.

 _'Merlin? Are you still…listening?'_

 _'I never stop.'_

My stride falters as that remark sinks in. He never stops listening…oh. My cheeks burn as I turn up into a stairwell. So he is listening even- oh gods.

A soft thrumming fills my head, feather light and warm; it's so pleasant I find myself chuckling along. Merlin is laughing and it feels freeing.

' _Calm down, keep your shirt on, sire. Or don't…'_ I can see Merlin's childish smirk as if he's stood beside me.

' _So…this is actually you. I'm not imagining you…right...Merlin?'_ Time stretches dizzyingly on, and as Merlin doesn't reply a cold fear begins to tighten my chest. He has to be real, I need him to be here and tell me how to help him.

"Arthur!" A shrill scream echoes against stone and I glance down to see my sister sprawled on the steps, her face outraged and confused as she glares up at me.

"Morgana," my voice is croakier than I meant it to be. I extend a hand down to her realising only as she stares at it that it's still dirty. Still crusted with blood; _Merlin's blood._ My hand trembles and finally, away from him and those who can help him my armour feels too tight, my chainmail is suffocating me and my gut is curling on itself. "Morgana," I gasp, half in shock and half as a cry of desperation. My breaths are shallow and drag as I inhale; shuddering as I breath out. In a flash, her mothering instinct is in control and Morgana is at my side, steering me through halls and toward her rooms. I feel cold and my metal uniform chatters as I shake. The moment we are behind closed doors, Morgana is undressing me. Pulling the heavy, chaffing armour from me but I'm no warmer…I can't breathe any easier. She drops them to the floor with a loud crash. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think that Merlin's good polishing work has gone to waste. Morgana grips my face, forcing me to stare into her eyes, into irises that are warming to a familiar golden hue.

"Look at me, brother. Trust me, I can help. You're in shock. Focus, now." Artificial warmth floods into my veins, calming my shivering form and easing my breath, but my chest aches, my eyes burn. "Show me, brother." And I do. I replay the battle. I don't heed Merlin's pleas and warnings. I fight with a needless flamboyance while my warlock struggles to defend every knight in my troop. I show her how time slowed when Merlin falls into my chest, sewn to my armour with a single arrow. Her hands jolt as she watches, as she understands now, "Oh, Arthur."

I show her how I brought him home; alive, but only just.

"All hope is not lost, brother. Have faith."

I blink back into her room and breathe deeply while I meet her eyes.

' _Tell her, she can help us.'_ And that's all the assurance I need. He is here, with me. It _is_ him.

"I can hear him. He's talking to me, even now."

Morgana stills. She watches me with a similar wariness as Gwen had before, though she emanates calm.

"…you're grieving. Hearing him, where he isn't?" Her gaze is searching, curious. I feel a certainty within me and a true calm releases the vice around my chest. I almost feel his hand on my shoulder.

"No, sister; I'm quite sure Merlin is in my head."

Aha so I didn't even see that coming if I'm honest..sorta just happened. Guess we'll see how it develops in part 4! Thanks for reading, I hope you like x


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